


when you're ready, you know where to find me

by secretsarenotforfree



Category: Cloak & Dagger (TV 2018)
Genre: Drug Abuse, F/M, I don't care this had me thriving, Mentions of spousal abuse, also can you tell I'm in denial, and they were ROOMMATES, c'mon you guys know Tandy's story, roommate au, the tyrandy au no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 09:43:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21177359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretsarenotforfree/pseuds/secretsarenotforfree
Summary: So. She should have known better than to stake her hopes on the apartment. Because, slight problem, it already has an occupant.





	when you're ready, you know where to find me

**Author's Note:**

> the tyrandy roomies after college au that no one asked for but that i desperately needed. also catch me in deep denial about not having my kids for another season ;_;.
> 
> title from "open arms" by prettymuch

When your twenty two year old daughter insists to you that she needs to take her third year of community college on the other side of the state, don’t have one doubt in your mind that she’s fucking lying to you.

In Tandy’s defense, she was at her wits end. She’s happy her mom is happy, really she is - an abusive husband and a substance abuse problem that she’s got to conquer every day is enough of a burden on ones life that some sort of positive karma has got to come back to you, and she’s glad it’s Greg. He’s makes terrible jokes and can cook annoyingly well and Tandy’s got a sneaking suspicion that he’s going to keep his hair well into his old age, but she doesn’t need to see them near making out in the kitchen whenever she comes down in the morning to grab a mug of the elixir of life. She certainly doesn’t want to have the bedroom down the hallway from them while they celebrate being midlife honeymooners and there’s only so much leniency she can give for the progressively lacier underwear she’s finding in the wash with her own stuff. 

(You can only gag so many times in your own home.)

(Tandy needs _ out _.)

To be completely fair, her life trajectory wasn’t supposed to land her in a place where she’d have to make a decision like this. Up until ninth grade, the smart mouthed fifteen year old to all appearances seemed like she’d follow the same trajectory as her brilliant scientist father. Her friends mothers were all jealous of the seemingly doting Nathan Bowen and the house at the top of the hill he’d bought for his blonde bride and raised his precious daughter in, and Tandy’s friends were envious of the gifts she always seemed to be showered with. Sure, they were all close to the same tax bracket as she - you couldn’t really attend the (bullshit) illustrious St. Sebastians Preparatory Academy without it - but the Bowens were St. Seb’s royalty. Everyone said so.

What everyone _ didn’t _ know, however, was behind the perfect Dr. Jekyll’s of the Bowen households there were far too many Mr. Hyde’s. There hadn’t been much fanfare the first time Tandy had seen her father hit her mother, but the memory remained crystal clear. They were all at the dinner table, and Nathan’s big presentation at work hadn’t gone exactly the way he’d planned. When he called her _ pumpkin _ the words were strained in a way Tandy didn’t like, and she’d been uncharacteristically quiet. In the midst of recounting his apparently idiotic assistants failure to print the proper amount of packets, Melissa had laughed at the wrong time. Just like that, _ bam _, her cheek had caught the point of Nathan’s elbow. The table fell dead silent, and Tandy couldn’t stop staring at the bruise forming next to her mother's too blue eyes. She didn’t know how to react. 

In a completely normal voice, Nathan had asked how ballet practice had gone. Shakily, Melissa repeated the question, and Tandy’s mouth had opened, an answer spilling out that she couldn’t tell you even now. Dinner resumed as if nothing had ever happened, as if Tandy’s world hadn’t cracked down its foundation, but everything was different after that.

Nathan didn’t try to hide it anymore. The more marks he left on Melissa’s arms, the more her mother drank, and the more time Tandy spent away from the house trying not to see it. The limit of the credit card her father had gifted her with the day after went up a few digits every few weeks, but money can’t drown the confusion of seeing the man you used to trust the most morph into a monster whenever you least expected it. Exhausting herself in practice wasn’t enough. Kissing boys helped, a little. Then one of them offered her a small white pill on the tip of his tongue. He was cute, and she thought him trustworthy, and she hadn’t pregamed enough anyway, Tandy reasoned. So what the hell?

Cut to three months later, she meets Liam at a friends party. He’s older - older in the way that high school girls think is sexy, grownup, and mature - older in the way that Tandy knows now was too much so. His blue eyes don’t remind her of her dad, or maybe they do, but he makes sure she stumbles home safely and always has a pick-me-up when she needs it. A month later, she tells him she doesn’t want to go home again.

She disappears with her ballet bag stuffed full and no goodbye note three weeks into tenth grade and doesn’t resurface for a year and a half. Even Melissa doesn’t know where she is, when she remembers to look after dragging herself out of the murky prison of busted lips and bourbon and a work accident takes Nathan out of her life.

_ Such a terrible misfortune _, all the mothers sooth at the memorial service, but Melissa can’t bring herself to agree under large dark sunglasses and a mourning dress with black tights so they can’t see the welts left over from her last ‘mistake’. News reaches Tandy, somehow, almost a month after he's in the ground, and it’s the one thing that shakes her for a moment. Makes clarity hit for once in far too fucking long that no matter how hellbent on self destruction she is, she at least owes her mother visual proof that her one remaining family member is still alive and kicking. 

Just barely, at any rate.

She leaves Liam much the same way she left her mom all that time ago, secretly glad of the excuse to free herself from his hints to permanent commitment, invasive hands, and adoring gaze that she once found endearing but evolved to suffocating at an altogether too slow pace, and hitchhikes her way back to Louisiana under a lucky star that doesn’t leave her raped or dead in a ditch.

She’s a few weeks short of her eighteenth birthday when she drops her stuff on the doorstep she used to kiss her daddies whiskered cheek goodbye on and rings the doorbell. Tandy doesn’t quite fall apart, not really, when Melissa lets her in, but there’s a terrible lot of quiet hugging and soft whispers crumpled on the foyer floor.

Anyway. That was years ago.

She got her GED after many frustrating failed attempts, spent a lot of time ignoring her old classmates in town and on Facebook, and bums it around as Melissa’s near grown daughter turned roommate for a year or two. It’s only with her encouragement that she enrolls in a ballet class again, and it helps her regain the confidence to attempt higher education. By this time, Greg’s found the blonde woman drinking water at a jazz club intriguing and asked her out, despite the conspicous paler-than-the-rest-of-him band around his left ring finger. Tandy wasn’t a fan in the beginning - if nothing else, life has taught her that it's safer to approach teeth first - but he proves his worth. He proposes the second the ink is dry on his divorce papers and Tandy finds herself itching in a ice blue dress next to her mom, Greg, and a preacher on their back porch with only Greg’s dog as another witness. 

Two years of general education classes later, Tandy collects what she’s saved from working in the backroom at a jewelers (nimble hands clean gemstones remarkably well and she’s been lucky enough to have no arrests on her record) and her half of Nathan’s life insurance and informs her mom she’s transferring schools and she’s going to be fine. She promises. She’s done worse, after all, and look? She’s fine. (Mostly.) So sue her, Tandy wants to try new things. She awkwardly pats Melissa’s back when she cries a little into Tandy’s newly short hair and high-fives Greg and his dog, and puts the directions into Google Maps for the address her new landlord provided.

Should she have driven out to see the place before taking off there? Maybe. Does Tandy care? Not really. If it’s bad, she can wait it out, she’s pretty sure. It can’t be all _ that _bad. It’s definitely better than the snickers and whispers she felt trickle down her back in her altogether too small hometown and the noises from down the hall that had had her invest in a particularly good pair of noise cancelling headphones. For about two seconds every half hour on the drive over, Tandy allows herself to think positive things about the apartment. Genuine freedom, unburdened by substances, ex boyfriends, or a curfew to a messed up home is brand new to her and tastes pretty damn good so far.

* * *

So. She should have known better than to stake her hopes on the apartment. Because, slight problem, _ it already has an occupant _. Of course she didn’t pull up until near eleven PM due to completely unexpected traffic. Of course the front desk was closed, so she didn’t have a key. Of course the elevator was broken, so she had to struggle up the three necessary flights with bags in hand all alone. And of course, when she’d finally made her way to door 308, instead of making camp on the floor outside of her brand new apartment door, it opened in her very surprised face, and from her position on the ground Tandy got a facefull of ass.

It was _ hot _ass she guesses, attached to legs that Tandy would only grudgingly admit were nicer than hers, framed in cute cream lace panties that peeked out from underneath an overlarge black t-shirt. Dark eyes surrounded by a halo of well tamed black curls widen, and the girl yelps.

Decidedly homeless looking, in a white tank top that had seen better days, mom jeans, and scuffed chucks, cheeks flushed from exertion and humidity having had its fun with her short locks, Tandy throws up a peace sign. “Sup.” Because fuck it, why not?

For a hot second, Tandy and the girl just look at each other. “Uh, Tyrone?” The girl says finally, looking back inside the apartment. “There’s a girl on your doorstep.”

Sure, it took Tandy a few years to finish high school when all was said and done, but she had a strong feeling nice ass was not Tyrone. Not that she knew who Tyrone was, or who nice ass was, but what she _ did _know was that the landlord had said nothing about a roommate. Right? (She scours her memory, but if she was completely honest she’d kind of zoned out in the middle of his peppy selling point spiel. Maybe he had. Would explain the cheap rent for an ostensibly decent apartment in a good part of town. Fuck.)

“Oh shit.” Seeps its way through the door nice ass has cracked, much deeper than the girl who’s still gazing curiously through slightly narrowed eyes at Tandy, and from the sound of the rustling and nice asses state of clothing, she guesses he’s putting something on. Probably clothes. A few moments later, nice ass disappears back into the room, low whispers flying too quietly for Tandy to hear. Sighing, she just leans her head back on the wall and closes her eyes because, for fucks sake. She’s used to having her plans shot in the face but this is just too much. Maybe it was better she didn’t have a key yet. Walking into strangers getting it on was about on the same level of uncomfortable as witnessing her mom and Greg.

The door swings widely open a few minutes later, knocking over one of Tandy’s boxes (she hopes nothing valuable is in there, but knowing her luck…), and Nice Ass is there, wearing what she guesses is her actual clothing. “Nice to meet you. Bye.” She looks more displeased than when she'd answered the door, but her quickly retreating figure isn’t safe from Tandy’s raised brow. Did that even count as a meeting?

“Don’t mind her. Evita’s just like that.” Deep voice from before makes it grand comeback and Tandy swings her honey brown gaze back over to land on - _ shit _. Fucking shitballs. She knows this guy. Or, correction she supposes, used to know this guy. Freshman year is decidedly one of her fuzzier years, but she remembers this kid. Something terrible happened to him, she thought she heard around town after she’d returned, but back then he’d just been a gifted basketball player and half of the class had a crush on him. She’d been one of them, Tandy remembered with an inward grimace, and if she hadn’t been as preoccupied with the mess of her own home her heart would’ve been one of the ones broken when he’d transferred in tenth grade.

His face was kind of the same, but it had, she didn’t know, filled out? Filled out, and lengthened, and his cheekbones were way sharper than she remembered. She used to know girls who’d kill for those kind of cheekbones. The cleft in his chin winked at her from her position seated against the wall, and sinfully long inky lashes batted at her in a way that was altogether too distracting. A broad (and decidedly cut, god bless tight black t-shirts), chest and worn dark blue jeans greeted her along with the rest of him, and the bashful smile he had on only enhanced the attractive picture.

(If nothing else, Tandy distinctly doesn’t remember being informed the apartment came with features this damn pretty.)

“The landlord said you were coming today, but when it started getting late and there was so sign of you, I kind of figured I wouldn’t see you until tomorrow. That’s my bad.”

Tandy scoffs a little, licking her bottom lip. “I feel worse for Evita. That means you weren’t planning on her being here in the morning.” She doesn’t think skin that dark and unblemished (and perfect) can blush, but she feels kind of like he is anyway. 

“Ah. Um. When you put it like that?”

“You’re still in the wrong,” Tandy shrugs, and pushes herself to her feet. She very pointedly ignores how much the part of her that likes feeling dainty is enjoying the inches of height he’s got over her. (After she stopped doing drugs, her body welcomed the good food she was getting at home. ‘Dainty’ had left her a long time ago. Her ballet teacher had reminded her of that fact even if she’d tried to forget it.) “So, complete honesty? I didn’t know I had a roommate. Kind of assumed I was moving into an empty place.”

He winces, even though it couldn’t possibly be his fault. He didn’t _ look _like the landlord, at the very least. “Damn. I’d be pissed if I thought that.”

Tandy peeks under his shoulder, but it doesn’t look like he made the place look serial killer like, so that was a plus at least. “Is there at least an empty bedroom?”

His face lights up, and the grin its paired with takes him from classically handsome to stunning. She’s suddenly not sure rooming with him would be safe, for entirely different reasons than before. “That, there definitely is. There’s only one bathroom, but I don’t take up a lot of space. And I can move my stuff for you if you need more.”

“Oh, so someone’s already assuming I’m not going to try and find another apartment with no current occupants?” Tired of standing in the doorway, and certain he would let her in, Tandy ducks under his arm and takes an eyeful of the place. The kitchen light is the only thing on other than the muted wash of a fifty inch flat screen, but there’s enough to take quick stock. The kitchen has new stainless steel appliances, even if a smidge cramped, but she likes the look of the breakfast bar. A long rectangle table is pressed in the corner with five chairs, but all the personalization lays in the living room. Two gaming systems are tucked underneath the TV and a bookshelf reaches ceiling to floor on either side. A long dark grey couch has the place of honor in front of the TV, a blanket with threads that catch the light thrown haphazardly on it. Two armchairs complete the space, and the large windows are open to show the nearby park and city beyond. 

Tandy isn’t mad at it. She’s kind of annoyed at quite how much she isn’t mad at it. 

“I wouldn’t assume. But, if you’re considering it, I wouldn’t be a bad roomie. Cross my heart and hope to die.” He’s standing next to her now, arms crossed and door to the hallway still open behind them, bare chested and beautiful, and Tandy catches a whiff of intoxicating coffee and fresh air. She doesn’t see a candle, so what the fuck? Another sniff, and she’s horrified to realize he smells like the goddamn elixir of life. 

Frankly, throw her off a roof.

“And I’m Tyrone, by the way.” He holds out a hand to her, big palm and long fingers and a slight smile, and Tandy has a sinking feeling she’s met her new roommate. She touches his hand, but the shake tingles and she yanks her hand back too soon, retreating a step. 

“Tandy.”

“Tandy.” Tyrone cocks his head to the side and grins again, and she breathes a tiny sign of relief because as much as she sort of remembered him, she doesn’t think he remembered her. Tandy is a fairly unique name, so she doesn’t know why, but there are worse things than being unremarkable to this incredibly attractive man. (She thinks. What the fuck does she mean she thinks, she _ knows _. Right?). “Cool. I’ll go get your stuff from the hallway, at least until the morning when the landlord will actually answer his phone calls. I’ll show you where the room is in a minute.”

Before she can protest he’s already set about doing what he’d said he’d do, and she kind of just watches his biceps flex as he picks up her bags and decides she’s going to spend all of her time at school, because she obviously won’t be able to spend it at home.

* * *

Okay. So it’s been a few months. 

(And yes, she stayed in the apartment with him. Maybe it helped that the room was the perfect shape for her constellation lights. Maybe the view wasn't half bad and the dog who lived across the hall was super friendly. Maybe she liked that it was only a ten minute drive from her new school.

Fine. Okay fine, it’s because of her fucking roommate, but could you blame her? _ Look _at him.

Plus, he always paid his rent on time.)

Tandy’s learned a few things. Firstly, Tyrone can cook. Coffee and Eggos are about the only things she’s got in her repertoire, but she can’t count the amount of times she’s come home or been awoken by the smell of something just as sinfully delicious as the cook himself. Secondly, he and Evita aren’t officially together. But they also kind of are. They met his last year of college (unlike her, he went to a four year and already graduated, goddamn overachiever) and dated for a while, then broke up, but have been sleeping together off and on ever since then. Evita is sassy, and opinionated, and doesn’t exactly hate Tandy but doesn’t like her either. They keep their distance if Tyrone invites her over, and Tandy’s okay with that. She doesn’t like the way that her stomach drops when seeing him kiss her or wrap an arm around her waist when it’s only been such a short time. Thirdly, as nice and as sweet as Tyrone is, they have very differing views on things. 

No matter how angry they get about whatever it is that week, how late Tandy likes to come home from the clubs, Tyrone's tendency to let others walk all over him, his impossible expectations and how hard she worked to fall incredibly short of them, he won’t let them go to bed angry. It’s the only guarantee Tandy has, if they get into an argument about politics, or the homeless, or the relevancy of certain pieces of literature Tyrone holds close to his heart, is that he somehow knew whenever she’d been thinking of sleeping and would knock on her door. It would always be soft, though the level of pressure usually depended on which of them really needed to apologize this time, and usually ended with them sitting side by side on her bed with her lights going and her knees drawn up to her chest, talking it out.

She doesn’t know why it’s so important to him, but it’s far from the worst thing she’s dealt with for a boy. Even if this boy is her friend. Her roommate. (Nothing more, Tandy has to remind herself more than she’d like to admit.)

For someone who’d never been really into video games, Tandy manages to whup his butt on the regular in Black Ops. It's a certain point of pride in her to at least double his amount of kills.

Ty's not messy. If anything, _ she's _ the messy one, incapable of making her bed or having her closet look like anything but a secondhand store's donation bin. He folds all his laundry and does his dishes immediately after he's done cooking and voluntarily cleans their shared bathroom while she's in class and can't protest. Don't get Tandy wrong, she doesn't actually _ want _to do it, but she feels a little bad when she knows it's not his hair that ever so often clogs the shower.

She kind of falls into calling him Ty, because Tyrone seems sort of reserved for girlfriend-but-not Evita, and she likes the smile it inspires when she says it in an exasperated tone and he rolls his eyes. He can be Evita's Tyrone, but he can be Tandy's Ty. 

_ Tyrone freakin' Johnson, roommate extraordinaire _.

He calls her crazy white girl when her behavior is too irrational for him to try to figure it out and she tells him to go fuck himself but there's no bite in either of their tones and she never wants him to stop.

The first day Tandy sees Ty come out of the shower in just a towel she swallows her whole tongue and maybe her throat and has to retreat back to her room to recover for a second. When she ventures back out to the kitchen the towel has been replaced with a pair of basketball shorts but she still wants to lick him up and down and see if he tastes as good as he looks. She chalks it down to not having been with anyone since train crash disaster Liam but when she teases him about how lucky Evita is it's a special kind of control that keeps the streak of enviousness from her tone. She’s long since stopped caring about the pale stretch marks visible on her tan thighs and ass when she wears her Clickbait shorts and the press of her thighs against each other when she sits down, but sometimes she wishes she was as pretty as Tyrone was. Tandy’s pretty sure she brings down the attractiveness average of the apartment down everytime she goes an extra day without doing her hair or wears the same shirt to classes three days in a row, but. It is what is is. She was never going to be a supermodel anyway.

"So what's your story, Tan?"

She's been cagey, of course, about the specifics of her background, and this is the question he drops ever so often when she's cursing at her Gender and Sex Studies class because the reading is super dense and learning about sex trafficking makes her angry. The glare she throws over her shoulder at Tyrone is very uncalled for, but in all fairness he never chooses the best times. "A closed book, Ty. Be a normal person and go look at my Instagram or Facebook or something. Or just go back to 4K." This isn't exactly fair, because she takes a good amount of pride in the sheer lack of information you could garner from her Instagram. (She doesn't even _ have _a Facebook. Anymore, that is. Clean slate and all.)

He props his head on his hand and continues to squint at her from the back of the couch. "You've got to have one. We all do." Ty's voice dips and the slightly Southern accent that's ruined more panties than she'd ever admit tints his next words. "Why, you afraid it's too dark and angsty for me?"

"Ty, there is no world in which you're fully prepared for what I've got in my past. Trust me." She dismisses the conversation (even if he's not done, she sure is), and resumes stabbing angrily at her print out with a light blue highlighter. 

(She completely missed the flicker of darkness that steals over his eyes and the words he says under his breath when he turns away.)

Tandy isn't interested in unpacking her shit with the man who didn't remember her and never loses socks and, from the one time she sneaked one of the ears of her headphones off when Evita was over, has a 'talented tongue' . Especially when she's too ashamed that she doesn't remember his own. She prefers he knows the Tandy she is now, who's failing Statistics (maybe), and excelling in Psychology of the Criminal Mind for some ungodly reason and listens to Post Malone when she thinks no one else is home. (Tandy knows he knows. There's no other reason why he'd sing _ Rockstar _ whenever he comes home earlier than she expected). 

She keeps him at arms length best she can, really she does, but he burrows his way under whatever walls she’s got up without even trying too hard. It annoys the hell out of her. (More like amazes her, but. She can’t tell him that.) Tandy Bowen, queen of repression and not-dealing-with-things, is not used to someone wanting to fight past all of her baggage.

Tandy’s barely good enough to room with him. Despite everything, she isn’t sure what crazy thing inside her thinks she’s good enough to _ have _him.

One day Tyrone’s late coming home from work at the counselling center, and Tandy’s more concerned about it than she’s okay with confronting. She switches the channels so many times she couldn’t begin to tell anyone, much less herself, which one she’s stopped on. He hasn’t responded to her one text (texting more than once was a privilege _ she did not have _Tandy reminds herself every five minutes) and time drags on longer than she’d like.

When the doorknob finally rattles, she can’t stop herself from near leaping off the couch and going to greet him. It’s been near half a year at this point, the semester is drawing a close and Tandy’s started to look for jobs for the summertime, and she’s lost any fire about being angry about her already occupied apartment long ago. Biting back her concern, her hands curl into little fists at her sides when he finally shuffles in, glad her oversized sweatshirt (long since confiscated from Tyrone’s laundry bin) hides it. There’s no bitten lower lip smile when his dark eyes finally dart up to hers, and the need the hug him is so strong it nearly overwhelms her. 

“Ty. What’s wrong?” Tandy asks him softly, and he just draws in a shuddering breath for a moment, locking the door and leaning against it, head tilted back.

“Evita ended it. For real this time, I think, which is fine, but then my Mom called. My older brothers best friend just got killed.” There’s more force behind his toss of the keys on the countertop than she’s ever seen from him, but it would never even occur to her to be scared. Worry is the only thing Tandy can focus on right now. “We thought he was doing better. Turns out he was just using his legit business as a front and got shot in a confrontation with a damn cop. Mother_ fucker _.” He scrubs his hands over his face with a low growl as Tandy’s knuckles turn white with the force they’re digging her nails into her palm. Must not run to comfort him. Must not overstep any lines.

(_ Fuck _the lines. Ty’s hurting. That should be illegal in all 50 states and Puerto Rico.)

“I’m not saying he wasn’t playing with fire, doin’ what he was doing. What I am saying is, he was damn near unarmed. And they didn’t give him a chance to even put his hands up.”

The lump in Tandy’s throat grows even larger. She’s experienced prejudice, sort of, knew how a womans body was commodified and used up, knew the uglier side of a lot of things, but being a black man in the south? She wasn’t even going to pretend to know that struggle. She could just be pissed about it like he was. She did know that men with authority seemed to think it made them better than others, and that infuriated her. Sometimes she wished she could make them all feel how they made others - powerless.

“That’s bullshit.” Tandy hears herself saying, words soaked in vehemence. “You’d think they actually take ‘serve and protect’ to heart. I’m really sorry Ty.” There’s a beat, and she almost takes a step closer. “Can I do anything?”

The laugh he lets out is entirely too harsh for her Ty. She wishes she could tear the cop that gave him and his family such pain apart. “Not unless you can go back in time. But thanks. I just need some time.” 

She moves back to give him space, no matter how much she doesn’t want to, and her heart skips a beat when Ty stops in front of his door, and looks back at her. “I don’t want to talk about it. But maybe...keep me company?” 

_ Of course _ . Tandy thinks. _ Anytime. Whenever you want. _What she says though, with a tiny upturn of her lip, is just a simple “Yeah. I can do that.” She doesn’t think about the fact that this is the first time she’s spent more than a quick second or two in his bedroom, or that she has to be at class at eight AM the next morning. She settles herself in his desk chair and watches him throw a play basketball in the hoop anchored on the opposite wall from his bed and listens to nineties hip hop music with him until near three AM.

Tandy doesn’t quite know how she wakes up on his bed a few hours later, sunlight sneaking under his drawn shades, but when she peeks over the edge she sees him curled on his side in the sleeping bag that used to be his brothers something in her chest loosens and bursts and another part of her belongs to Tyrone Johnson.

(Oh yeah. She’d remembered what the terrible thing was that happened to him after stalking his Facebook and seeing the ‘In Remembrance’ posts about his older brother Billy. One day Tandy’ll tell him how odd it is that the day he was killed is the same, separated by a few years, that her dad’s accident happened, but it won't be today.)

Maybe she kisses his forehead on her way out of the room. Maybe she doesn’t realize that he’s not completely asleep, and a tiny grin appears even through all that sadness to the tune of her retreating bare feet.

* * *

Things change a bit after that. 

She goes with him to the funeral service, and it’s sad, near painfully so, but when she offers her hand for support Tyrone laces their fingers together and holds tight through the whole service. Instead of sitting with the rest of the family at the repast they sort of sit in the corner and eat fried chicken and collard greens on a styrofoam plate while he tells her stories about all the things Billy and Duane used to get up to when Ty would tag along. It’s the sweetest lemonade she’s ever had and it stays on her tongue even on the drive home, and from the stories she almost gets the sense that Billy and Duane were more than just best friends, but she’s never smiled so much wearing a black dress before.

(She meets his mom and dad, and they’re nice, but she gets the sense that Adina can see the dirt that Tandy’s worked so hard to leave in her past. She’s a councilwoman, so she’s certain from the way Adina’s eyes narrow that she saw the missing years of high school on her transcript and the restraining orders Melissa had filed all that time ago against her father, but she tries to rationalize to herself that she can’t change her past anymore than her mom can. At least Otis claps her on the shoulder and makes a joke about Tyrone’s basketball socks stinking up the apartment that let's her know that at least _ he _ doesn’t hate her. Tandy’ll take one out of two.)

She gets a job bussing at a bar, which isn't glamorous or has _ anything _to do with her classes, but at least it's good money. Tandy does decently well on her final exams, and Tyrone throws her a tiny surprise party in celebration. It's the two of them, her favorite TA’s Brigid and Mina, and Brigid’s boyfriend, and it’s nice. Nicer than she expected for ostensibly mediocre B’s, but when Tyrone engulfs her in a huge hug and tells her that he’s proud of his crazy white girl roommate her heart grows three times in size. There’s a small dark chocolate cake and '2.9' painstakingly piped in white frosting on it for her GPA. They toast with red solo cups of vodka and orange juice (Tyrone's sans alcohol) and she doesn’t even forget to call her mom to tell her the news.

(“I’m so proud of you.” Melissa says warmly, and even with one hand over her other ear to hear her better Tandy can’t help the roll of her eyes.

“Yeah, well. It wasn’t all me. I had some help.” Her warm brown eyes dart over to the people entirely too young and yet too old to be deriving that much pleasure from Tyrone teaching them the Electric Slide and her cheeks pink, though Tandy doesn’t care to distinguish if its from the alcohol or the company. Tyrone catches her eye and winks in the middle of a particularly extra shoulder move and she actually laughs.

“Oh, I know that sound.”

“Huh?” Tandy blinks back to the phone call, to her mom’s small chuckle.

“Nothing. When are we going to meet this Tyrone of yours, hmm?”

“Mom.” Her cheeks color again, harder this time, and she has to duck into her bedroom before anyone sees. “He’s not my anything.” She doesn’t have to say that she wants him to be. Melissa knows her well enough by now.)

They play truth or dare at the end of the night, and it’s pretty standard shenanigans. Fuchs dares Brigid and Mina to kiss each other and both shrug and give into the little cheers Tandy and Tyrone give them for a medium length smooch. Tandy asks Fuchs what his greatest fear is (it’s not being a good cop, and for all of Tyrone’s terrible history with the institution when he slaps his hand on Fuchs’s shoulder and squeezes it says more than words really need to), and Mina gets dared to use her fancy dancy science knowledge to make a mini volcano in their small kitchen. All three of the slightly older people get way too into it, and Tandy’s attention gets drawn away from it by Tyrone’s slight nudge on her shoulder.

They’d been sitting next to each other the whole game and she'd been trying pretty valiantly to ignore the tingles she was getting from the simple heat of him at her side. He was all long, sinous muscled limbs and dark mahogany skin and that stupid smile that made butterflies she'd thought she'd killed long ago threaten to reincarnate in her stomach. "Hey. Truth or Dare."

Say what you want, but Tandy had always found dares to be the easiest to do. She'd always rather run shirtless around their apartment floor or dump ice in her underpants that confess any of her truths, but this was Ty. Ty looking altogether too scrumptious in a navy sweater pushed up to his forearms and the thin golden cross Billy had given him winking in the light, somehow not nearly as bright as his eyes. And he'd thrown her a _ party _for fucks sake. 

"Truth." She says almost shyly, and he turns a bit to face her, tugging her closer to him by her criss crossed legs. Tandy suddenly wishes she had on something a little more covering than her loose grey tank top and matching joggers. Ostensibly, she's not too exposed, but Tyrone always makes her feel like a livewire or something. Bright and sparking to his settled darkness. "But a truth for a truth."

"You drive a hard bargain, Tandy Bowen." Tyrone's teeth press into his bottom lip, his trademark bitten off smile, and her entire core melts. "Okay. You first."

Oh, what to ask. Thank God for the heady confidence rushing through her courtesy of Misses Svedka and her best friend, Grey Goose. _ What does it mean when you let me fall asleep on you on the couch? Is it really over with Evita? Would you ever date a fucked up blonde? _All questions she wants to ask. All ones she shouldn't. So she goes for something a bit less hard hitting, but that she wants to know the answer of regardless. "Why'd you throw me a party? Any of your friends in grad school got better grades. And I'm just your roommate." 

_ Just his roommate. _Something Tandy reminds herself of often so maybe her heart will get the message and stop reaching for something more. She's never really been able to depend on anything in life other than her own shitty luck, and she's terrified to have Tyrone be one of those things that just lets her down. 

His brow wrinkles, and a frown passes through altogether too luscious lips. "Tandy. C'mon. You've got to know you're my best friend by now." Tyrone gestures to the rogue balloons scattered around their living room, the half eaten cake and adults causing mayhem in their sink. "And because you deserve it. You did great, no ifs, ands, or buts about it." The tip of his forefinger and thumb strokes the curve of her chin, feather light and burning, and the heat from it spreads throughout Tandy's whole body, helpless to do anything other than keep her honey browns locked on his chocolate dark ones.

"Shut up." Tandy shoves his shoulder a little, but is secretly pleased when he uses his grip on her to keep himself centered.

He really shouldn't be allowed to say things like that with a look on his face that soft. It does funny things to Tandy's insides.

One corner of her mouth slides up in a tiny smile and she gets a warmer one in response from him. "Okay, okay, my turn." Ty hums, broad palms still resting on her knees. (The first time she caught him singing all she could do was stare. He was the primary soloist in his high school choir, Tyrone ends up telling her, and all Tandy can do is shake her head. Of fucking course he'd have the voice of an angel.) "Alright. You never have anyone over. When's the last time you were involved with someone?"

Tandy balks, eyes widening slightly, because who gave him permission to ask something like that? _ Her. Fuck. _Apparently when it came to hard hitting questions Tyrone had more balls than she did, which was embarrassing. And also a cause for panic. She opens her mouth, ready to lie her ass off, and is stopped by Tyrone's hand covering her mouth. He dips his head at her and raises a brow. "Tan. Truth, please."

Whoever gave him Tandy Bowen X-Ray glasses needs to take a long walk off a short bridge. Pushing out an aggravated sigh, she hitches her elbows back and leans on their couch. "I was" _ fudge the numbers a bit Tandy _ "sixteen. This guy I met at one of my friends parties." She studied the carpet while she talks because truth or not, she hadn't had any friends back then. She'd never been the best at it, drugs notwithstanding. "I lived with him for almost two years. He was older, and wanted a bit more than I could give him, but. He took care of me." Tandy doesn't know what or why she's being so cagey about it, but it's less to protect Liam than it is to protect herself. The whole story doesn't paint her in a good light.

Tyrone's grip on her knees tightens by a little bit but otherwise, he says nothing. "Any lingering feelings?"

Tandy scoffs, running a hand through her often fluffier than she'd like curly blonde locks. "Absolutely not. That was an era in my life for sure, but it was long gone." She flicks a piece of non-existent lint off her joggers, dipping her gaze away from Ty. "I assume for him too, but I don't really know. Didn't leave a note or anything. Just up and left one day. It's my favorite superpower, y'know?" Tandy grins, but it's all teeth and no heart. "Running away."

He's silent for a second, but when he opens his mouth he's interested by an excited shriek. Both turns their heads to see a fizzy explosion of Mountain Dew spilling all over their countertop, startling a more real laugh from Tandy's mouth. "I'm going to go get that under control," she tells Ty, glad to have an excuse to escape the conversation, and pushes to her feet, not trusting herself to look back. 

She still feels the ghost of his warmth on her knees for the rest of the night, when Tyrone tucks Brigid and Fuchs in on the couch and Mina settles in on Tandy's floor. She's leaning against her door frame, only separated from Tyrone's room by the bathroom that lies between him, and is altogether too taken with the way his eyes glitter in the darkness after he turns out the living room light. 

"Hey T?"

"Yeah Ty?"

He comes close to her, too close, there's blood rushing in her ears and her heartbeat is entirely too loud, and then his hand is cupping her cheek and Tyrone's lips are pressed to her forehead. It's the sweetest thing he's ever done, and yet all she can focus on is how plush his lips feel against her and how her gaze is level with his too manly and too attractive Adams apple. His smell washes over her, clean and coffee strong, and her eyes close of their own accord because _ this feels more right than it should _. "Just know there's no reason to run away from me." His deep voice whushes through her hair, warm and velvet tender, and dear God, she's committing this moment to memory if she does anything else. "Congratulations, crazy white girl."

He's gone when she opens her eyes, door clicking shut behind him, and though she hasn't stepped foot outside her apartment door in hours Tandy feels a hell of a lot like she's just been flattened by a very sexy, very sweet, roommate-train named Tyrone Johnson.

_ Christ. What the hell is she supposed to do with that? _

* * *

Tandy's used to getting hit on, for all that she's a bit rounded and thick around her curves she's never thought herself _ ugly _, just not as delicious as Tyrone, but she's finding it very hard to determine if he's just a very affectionate best friend or he's actually trying to make some moves on her.

Because if he is, hot diggity damn, she very badly wants some of that, but if he isn't? She doesn't think she can take ruining their friendship. It would be a jagged hole in the heart of her that Tandy is quite sure she wouldn't recover from in any sort of healthy way. 

If her shift gets out at one AM or later he shows up at work to pick her up, even though she's perfectly fine to Uber back home thanks so very much. If she's in the kitchen attempting to do her share and wash the dishes he seems to have no problem brushing her arm while getting a cup, or tugging gently on her hair to get her attention. He slings his arm around her shoulders when they're out with friends and knocks on her door to hang out at all times of the day and night when they're in the apartment and suddenly if she doesn't get a selfie with he and whoever he's mentoring at the center by the end of the day she's super disappointed. Tandy overhears a phone call with his mother where her name comes up and when he says "Tandy's complicated, mom." It's in such a tender way she actually blushes even if she's extremely certain she's not supposed to overhear it.

When they watch _ Mindhunter _ he shares her blanket with her and leaves his arm stretched out against the back of the couch and all Tandy wants to know is what the fuck, Ty? _ Are we together? What is this? _She has no freaking clue. He never makes a move to try to kiss her, or anything of the sort, and she's just confused. Tandy wants a sign.

It's a sign that she gets when she drags him out with her and coworkers to a club late on a Saturday night. He's pretty reluctant - as much as everyone seems to like him (if you don't like Ty then you need to yeet yourself from Tandy's sphere anyway), he isn't always good with letting himself loose. Especially when there are more people than just Tandy around. It's only after she pouts and calls him a pussy that he gives in, thin gold rings glinting with his necklace as he lounges in black pants and a sleeveless tee and waits for them to go and join her friends. Dresses aren't always Tandy's style, and she's always found them kind of risky at clubs, so she opts for a tight high waisted pair of shorts to match with her lowcut button down that ties at the waist. Her tan skin has always popped against the white, her favorite color, and when she slides on dark purple lipstick she's ready to roll out the door. Tyrone doesn't say anything, but there's a dark look in his eyes that sends prickles across her skin when he sees her.

(She hopes he's looking at her butt. No secret about it, really.)

They get to the club and she, by the skin of her teeth, coaxes him out into the dance floor. Ty's got rhythm, she'd seen as much from his grooving to Usher in their apartment, but he's a little shy. Tandy laughs and puts her hands on his shoulders to guide him, moving flawlessly to the music, and their dancing grins shine bright in the multicolored darkness. 

It's only when she spins away to grab her second (third? probably third) whiskey sour when something goes awry. The "Tandy?" She hears is in a voice so buried in her past it nearly shakes her to the core and she stumbles on her feet. Catches the blue eyed gaze of the man it was and felt her mouth go dry.

_ Liam. For fucks sake. _

His lips are thinned and the lines near his eyes are pronounced than they were in her youth but it's him, spiky haired and broad and so far from what she wanted to see tonight that she suddenly feels like she has to throw up. "Liam. Hey? Long time no see."

"Yeah, you could say that. No message? No nothing? I thought you were dead for the past five years. What the hell?"

She shrugs, nonchalance a protective cloak that isn't as strong as it needs to be. "Technically, I was. To you. I got clean, went home. Finished high school. No thanks to you."

He steps forward, clearly still frustrated, and it's only by setting her teeth that Tandy doesn't step back in return. She's not afraid of him. She's not. She's grown further than her past and it doesn't control her anymore. "I asked you to _ marry me _. Several times! And you couldn't leave a goddamn note?" His voice grows louder with each word, it seems, and she feels kind of backed into a corner. They're far enough away that Tandy gets the feeling that Liam kind of clocked her before she saw him, and planned getting her alone.

(She doesn't like this. She doesn't like it at all. But she'll be damned if she'll let it show.)

Tandy folds her arms across her chest, stance as proud as the tilt of her chin. "And I said no, because if you didn't remember I was sevenfuckingteen. Better question, did you even _ ask _when I was that young -"

"Everything good?"

Like her own personal dark angel (her best friend, her person, the man she may or may not be in love with), Tyrone materializes from the shadowed dance floor, all blazing eyes and tensed jaw. He doesn't stand in front of Tandy, but next to her, strong and reliable, and she kind of adores him for it. He touched her elbow, whisper soft, but the movement is clear. Without her even noticing, the fear that had started bubbling up inside her slips away. "Yeah. This is the ex." 

Liam's looking from her to Tyrone, to the elbow touch and the way they sort of unconsciously lean into each other, and something in his face crumbles and hardens. "So you've moved on."

Tandy purses her lips. If Tyrone hasn't defined what they are to her she's sure as shit not going to do it in front of Liam. "Maybe I've just moved up. C'mon Ty." She wraps her hand around his palm and leads him away, leaving Liam and whatever his issues are behind, willingly allowing Ty to twine their fingers as he prefers. "Thanks." She tells him a minute later, safely on the other side of the dance floor, and Tyrone just shakes his head.

"Anytime. You know you're my girl."

Saying her heart skips a beat is sort of an understatement, but it's enough to cause her to perch up on her tiptoes and kiss his cheek. One of the first moves _ Tandy _'s made, rather than Ty, and the dopey smile that spreads across his lips more than lights a bright flame inside her.

* * *

He'd remembered her. 

How could Tyrone have not, with that smart, pink mouth and honey brown eyes that blazed brighter than they had any right to in freshman year. If he concentrated hard enough he could still remember her ballet performance at the talent show that year, before Billy was killed and his mother packed up and moved the family to the other side of the state.

Thinking of her had crept up on him over the years, the flash of an opinionated blonde or a flock of young ballerinas making him remember the girl who'd made such an impression so young, but Ty had his own thing to deal with. Struggles with survivors guilt, his parents limping along marriage, and attempts at perfection had him pretty damn preoccupied.

It had taken him some time, really, to evaluate and realize that it was okay to be who you are and not who the world wants you to be, because you can never satisfy the world. You can barely satisfy yourself most of the time, but it was a more worthwhile approach than matching some standard that would always change. Adina and Otis went to therapy, figured out their issues, and Tyrone got a few separate sessions of his own. What he would've done without Father Delgado, he didn't know, but it helped him figure out a life course that fulfilled him. Made him feel driven again.

He'd grown. He'd matured. He'd found a girl that he really liked, even if they couldn't get their shit figured out. All in all, not the worst.

Then Evita had opened the door. And his life turned upside down as a face from his past, older and somehow more stunning than before, blinked up at him and accused him of being a crappy booty call.

(It would be sort of ridiculous to say he'd fallen head over ass right there, but she certainly did _ something _ to him that nothing ever had before.)

She moved in. She didn't go searching for actual empty appointment, she took over the lions share of the bathroom, put plants in the windowsill, played Post Malone and Panic! at the Disco over and over again, and brooded while looking like the cutest blonde to ever be created. And Tyrone found himself being effortlessly charmed by this girl who'd literally crashed back into his life with no warning at all. Evita doesn't like her, and if Tyrone was being honest with himself he knew exactly why, but he stays in their occasional together situation and keeps his dreams of flaxen hair through his fingers on lockdown.

Tandy feels passionately about things, and so does he, and that doesn't always mix very well, but they try not to take cheap shots at each other even when the arguments get so loud the only thing that rivals it is the silence right after. After seeing his parents marriage almost crumble over poor communication, however, Ty can never bear to leave it like that, and she lets him apologize. Or she'll apologize first, lit by her constellation lights, and her bed becomes a safe haven for them both.

One day he goes to get a glass of water fresh out the shower (he's not even thirsty) as a test and heavily enjoys the sluggish banked best that works through his system when he sees her eyes widen and her teeth bite into her bottom lip before disappearing back into her room. Okay. So maybe Tandy feels it a bit too. At the very least, she's interested in what his body has to offer, even if she seems to be resisting it. She refused to open up to him, no matter how much he asks, and it's frustrating as hell. He just wants to be fucking there for her, is that really so hard?

_ Keeping me at arms length isn't going to work _he wants to tell her, but bites it back every time.

Duane's sudden death, however, cracks something open for both of them. He'd been about to end it with Evita himself before she'd cut him off and told him it was over before he got the chance. Getting the Facebook notification that she was engaged later that day hadn't dazed him, not a mere hour after Adina had called.

All be wanted to do was call Tandy. Talk to her, see her. His feet made it to his apartment later than he planned, but seeing her there, the war in her eyes and clenched fists, something inside him loosened.

(Seeing her asleep in his bed threatened to...he doesn't know, but it involved his emotions and being completely taken with her. Probably some possessiveness in there too.)

The feelings grow in his chest progressively bigger and deeper the more time he spends with Tandy, and he can't deny it to himself any more. Tyrone wants to be with her. Like really _ be _with her. Hold her hand, cuddle her close, call her his girlfriend, fasten his hands on her hips and kiss her like she deserved to be kissed. Hesitation holds him back, because he knows her now. Knows that intimacy and vulnerability are things that she'd rather lose a limb than engage in and knows, even before she explicitly tell shim, that her instinct is to run. He prizes each stilted, too easily brushed off crumb of her past, from her abusive father and lost mother to the person she is now, and prays that each one is a tether keeping the two of them together.

(Perhaps it wasn't love, what Ty had with Evita, because he knows deep down that he'd be entirely lost if she were to disappear from his life, and he can't have that happen.

Won't.)

As far as his actions are concerned, they teeter on the edge of officially unofficial best friends but more and though a question lurks in Tandy's honey brown eyes at every movement he makes he won't answer it unless she asks. They'll make the move together, he reasons, because he doesn't want to take the step alone. _ With _her is the only way to go about this.

The night after the club they get ready for bed right next to each other, Tandy in a loose black tank top he's very sure was once his and he in a freshly.washed pair of basketball shorts. He elbows her playfully while they brush her teeth at the cramped sink and when she gasps around her toothbrush and shoves him right back the grin threatens to split his face. She's beautiful, face scrubbed makeup free, clear skin and dancing eyes, thick thighs leaning against his basketball muscled own, and he loves her. He knows that he does.

They take turns spitting out the toothpaste, wash their brushes, and both seem to take a moment, pausing, anticipation heavy between them. There aren't any words that they really exchange, no noise to predicate their turns towards each other, but Tandy bites the corner of her lip and grins a bit and it's just the knowledge Tyrone needs to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her close.

Tandy's arms wind around his neck, bodies pressed close (finally, _ finally _ ) and after so long wondering he gets to find out the way she tastes. It's minty fresh tongues and hesitant lips against lips but the heat begin them can't be hidden and his grip tightens on her curves, holding her up on the tips of her toes. For a moment it's kind of hard to see where he ends and she begins, and in the quiet of their apartment ( _ theirs _) and perfect and divine in all the ways it's supposed to be.

(Tandy wasn't sure if she still had knees or not because they liquified as he kissed her, knowing lips and tender hands. She'd dreamed about this so long, wondered what it would be like to be his girl, his _ real _ girl, and she gently runs her nails against the bottom of his fade and enjoys the card of his fingers through her hair and tight to her waist and never wants this moment to end. Never wants _ Ty _to end.)

They stumble back, into her bedroom rather than his and suddenly her leg is hitched over his waist and flaxen locks spread on her starry sheets and honestly it's a wonder they both don't combust on the spot. They've waited so long, truly, and neither wants to be the first to break the touch that they've both needed so much, but it's Tandy (of course it's Tandy) that gives them a slight pause with a tiny bite of his bottom lip, laughing a little at the growl he releases. "So, does this mean we're together?"

Tyrone dots kissed on her forehead and cheeks, each of her eyelids while her breathy giggles surround them and shakes his head at her, still wondering at her. "Yes, Tandy. You're damn right it does."

"Good." She runs inquiring fingers over his tightly muscled chest, over broad shoulders and back to wrap around his neck once more. God, does Tandy love him. "Does this mean we have an empty bedroom?"

How she got here might be a bit murky. It could've been a blatant lie, a thirst for freedom hidden in false words, but it doesn't matter, not anymore. Not when it led her here, to this, to him, to a love that she's never quite encountered before and doesn't want to leave.

It might have started with a lie. But when Tandy cuddles on the couch with her man, in _ their _ apartment, and tells him she loves him, it's the most truthful thing she's ever said.


End file.
